Close To Home
by thechiefs
Summary: You must perform several tasks that will help you learn the fundamentals of adventuring. Heed well the advice shared to you, and travel further afield as your experience grows.
1. The Company You Keep

**Summary:** Recent exploits have garnered the attention of the Grand Companies of Eorzea, each of which now seeks to recruit you to its rank. Based on the words of the Grand Companies, you are trusted to lend your strength to a Grand company. Weigh your decision well.

**-][-**

Finding privacy in the waking sands is nearly impossible. Beyond Tataru's welcome at the entrance, it takes little effort to enter unnoticed. The third shift guards only nodding sleepy heads in passive greeting—a motion more by habit than acknowledgement.

With little occupants occupying the halls so late into the night, the multipurposed requisition room is primarily empty. Two or three still linger at bordering tables and crates, sparing sidelong glances at the sudden arrival but remained occupied in whispering conversations. There are no archons to be seen either—they're likely resting or wrapping up tasks to follow the plots of Garleans and the makings of other primals across Eorzea.

Haldruht chooses the back-right corner of the room; it is a sectioned alcove with crates and barrels, a lone pillar dissecting the entry way, a large coffer tucked in the corner, and a table with overturned chairs placed atop. He turns to take his thunderstorm axe off his back to be placed among the crates and removes the adorned helmet to set aside. The space is small, but it gives enough air to think without influence—the eager eyes and offers of the Grand Company personnel officers nowhere to be found at this hour. When the roegadyn feels alone and at ease, he places his palms over the surface of a crate and breathes; lungs fill and empty like the steady pump of an alembic. Filling, emptying again—an effort to decompress the weight of events passed.

Defeating Ifrit created a weight. To face a god-like being and rise the victor was not only a battle in resolve but willpower that, he learned, was aided by the power of the echo. Even so, it did not dissuade him from venturing further into Thancred and Minfilia's newly cast shadow of the truths uncovered by his accomplishment. What energy and time he would have taken to process what transpired was swiftly swept away when leaders of Eorzea's city-states sent out officers in the hopes to recruit him into their military ranks.

Initially, the choice was clear—his axe belongs to the scions. As a child he was taught that his word was his oath—that to join a cause or take contract is binding, a testament to loyalty and trust. However, Minfilia recommended that a choice be made; to join the forces of a Grand Company could lend aid to the plights that lay ahead for the scions and Eorzea as a whole, even if temporarily. Haldruht felt no kinship to any city-state beyond Limsa Lominsa, the home to his marauder training, but wondered that if to enlist means to offer loyalty, would it not interfere with his aid of Gridania or Ul'dah?

Minfilia had assured that it wouldn't interfere with the likes of the scions, but he wasn't sure to believe it.

"Not necessarily _where_ I would choose, but it is an interesting choice no less." Y'shtola says idly leaning against the pillar that makes him turn around. "Worry not, I possess no plans to apprise your being here." An assurance offered when his gaze fell beyond Y'shtola's shoulders.

Haldruht nods in gratitude, "Does Minfilia mean to summon me at this hour?"

"Nay, I believe her to be resting. I am here of my own accord, though it seems that I may be interrupting." Y'shtola observes—as she always does. It makes him wonder not if she noticed him quietly stalk in, but how long it took her to choose confrontation.

"Unless you mean to impart more information, you are not." Haldruht answers with a listless upturn of his palm, voice low. Though if Y'shtola had meant to share more he would listen, especially from her. Y'shtola had grown to become a familiar face in his journey in Limsa Lominsa. From the encounter with the golem and his induction into the scions, Hal had noticed an undeniable air of reverence about her—perhaps born of admiration. The conjurer was attentive and intelligent, her contribution to the scions undeniable.

"Pray I have none to spare—none that you need know or be may be useful to you currently." It is a strange admission, leaving air for inquiry but it is never made.

"Then please," His gesture is stiff, a wave of his hand beckons her towards the disorganized stacks of crates in jest, "feel free to join, sit if you'd like."

It surprises Haldruht when she does, a mild burn growing in his chest from the suddenly held breath as the conjurer walks by him. Y'shtola chooses a crate adjacent to the large coffer, sitting with fingers curling over the edges of the wooden container at either side of her legs, and her feet just hovering above the floor. "There is a choice to be made. Have given any thought to your decision?"

_To the point, as she always is. _There is no reason to ask how Y'shtola knew of this decision. Even though the meeting was seemingly private when it happened and his journey to witness ceremonies was made alone, she would find out sooner rather than later. One thing he learned quickly—nothing got by Y'shtola unnoticed and rarely unrecognized.

"I have not." Haldruht admits.

Y'shtola's head tilts, never in confusion but curiosity. "I would think you privy to the Maelstrom, your affable relationship with the Admiral is unmistakable." Another observation said clearly as if to mark it as fact rather than an educated guess. "But you have been proven to be an agent of mystery, as much as you are proving to become an agent of the light."

It makes his brow raise, "You take me to be mysterious?"

"Not mysterious." Y'shtola states firmly, "Aberrant." Not a correction, but clarification but it does not faze him.

"The Maelstrom would be most fitting." He concedes, gaze drift to the crates. "Though the defeat of Ifrit was more of a victory for Ul'dah and her citizens, I know Limsa well and its inhabitants are familiar with my deeds in its aid. But loyalty to one city state feels…"

"Restrictive." Y'shtola finishes. "To be bound by one means to deny yourself from the others."

"Precisely." Haldruht's eyes return to meet Y'shtola's, "If to be a part of the scions begets loyalty to not one cause or organization, but to the preservation of several and the protection of Eorzea, how can I truly do so if my duty is solely to Ul'dah, Limsa or Gridania?"

"By aether shard or crystal, I presume." The answer is ribbing and Y'shtola's expression does little to hide it. It frustrates him at first—Y'shtola senses it, regards it with something of a lighthearted chuckle. "Yes, you are of the scions by your choosing, to then choose a Grand Company does not forsake that choice. Nor does it prohibit you from aiding the likes of others."

It brings him to long breaths again. Y'shtola makes it sound simple.

"If it were?" he asks.

"It will not." She answers, her tone holds an undeniable confidence.

"You and Minfilia are of similar thinking," he says, mindlessly adjusting the straps of his gauntlet. "she assured me the same—in fact, she had proposed that it may ultimately aid me to enlist, even if temporarily."

"I would not doubt Minfilia's advice on the matter." Y'shtola says. "She is familiar in the ways of procuring powerful allies and favor of influential figures of Eorzea."

"Does that mean you've come in aid to Minfilia's wisdom?"

Y'shtola's eyes shift momentarily, grimace is missed by Haldruht's averted gaze. "She needs not my aid to impart wisdom upon anyone, let alone by proxy."

His face twists in bemusement, Haldruht's head cants when he looks at Y'shtola—a wordless, _Then_?

"Your choices are your own, with or without mine or Minfilia's word to persuade you. If you don't wish to join—then do not."

"But if it may ultimately aid—"

"Then enlist." Y'shtola interrupts.

_It is that simple?_ he thinks, gaze downcast to the floor. Perhaps it is a decision he is overthinking. The residual energy and emotion from remembrance speeches and sudden camaraderie with Eorzea's people may have clouded some part of his judgement. He lets out a long sigh, thinking once more—_it is that simple_.

"You've been more decisive in the past." Y'shtola states, "Curious that this is what gives you pause."

He rubs at the back of his neck, the tension there coming to knots, "Choosing to fight against the ilk of darkness is a choice I need not to be compelled, it is in my blood to fight against the creations and workings of the hells." A lesson learned long ago among smoking embers of Alabathia's spine, "To take more than one alliance means to bring dissent into one's life. If their objectives come to clash, it could possibly create an enemy."

Y'shtola only looks to him, listening. It is a familiar look, knowing her to spare no time to lurk in the idea of surprise or confusion, but to quickly take on the mantle of learning.

"I may not be more than a simple mercenary to most," he gives the hair about his jaw a casual stroke, "but I know the ills and evils born from politics."

"From experience." She does not guess or ask, but states as a form of fact.

"Aye," He concedes, taking a step towards the crates that carry his axe, taking to lean his back against them. He was not one to share the history of his upbringing or much of anything—Haldruht was taught to be reticence in battle and in life. "I've lost a brother to it." He says, his breath evenly measured.

The admission was easy to share in the moment, he feels comfortable enough to say it knowing that it would stay between them. What had induced him to enough comfort in the conversation they share was born of a growing friendship and an amount of unspoken trust. "He took a similar journey when he was of age and found himself caught between the rivalries of pirates."

Y'shtola did not look away, but leaned forward, an ear twitch in attentiveness. It is clear, in her gaze, that she is not speechless to his admissions but absorbing the information shared.

He laughs little in the way of humor, "Even the like of pirates play politics. I cannot expect any less from others."

"Your concern is warranted." Y'shtola exhales, moving off the crate she once sat atop. "but your dealings are not among Pirates—" she pauses eyes coming to narrow briefly, perhaps in consideration of Limsa's colored past among pirates. "Nor do the scions take part in the political matters of the city-states. We play more as an additional line of defense rather than a singular and separate driving force or power. As all things, your choice retains no permanence."

Haldruht regards her words, arms crossing over his chest. In truth, the scions had been the most familiar to his home. In the Farreach, they stood at the mouth of the gates of hell to slay the evil and demons that may breach the realm, and the primals were no different. The primals were, after all, the common enemy among everyone. "Mayhap you are right."

"Mayhap I am." Y'shtola says with amused lilt.

She brough him slowly to a smile, coming to thoughtfully stroke she short bread of his chin. She had a way about herself that brought him to relax, even in Limsa. There was a notable clarity in her ways that aided him in the newer challenges that arose.

"Is that all that troubles you?" She asks, tilting her head just so.

"I—" he pauses, his mild huff something of realization of being regaled, "For all the hardships I may face, this has currently become the most difficult."

Y'shtola brings the print of her thumb to rest under her chin, finger curling into a loose fist, "If that be the most difficult of your hardships, you have considerable luck."

"We will see how long such luck lasts."

"So we shall." Y'shtola steps just beyond the threshold of the alcove, back turned. She looks over her shoulder, saying, "Red and black is very fitting, wouldn't you agree?" as apparent parting words while she continues to walk towards the room's exit.

There is a quiet, "Indeed it is." That goes unheard as Haldruht quietly watches the conjurer until the large wooden doors closed behind her, a gentle smile taking his expression.


	2. In the Company of Heroes

**Summary:** In a wholly unexpected turn of events, Wheiskaet reveals that the banquet preparations were an excuse to evaluate your worthiness to face Titan and the five men all agree that you have the necessary qualities to defeat the Lord of Crags. Their assessment now concluded, Wheiskaet decrees that all present should enjoy the festivities. You listen carefully to the parting words of each former mercenary and all present seem to have enjoyed themselves immensely, save perhaps for Y'shtola who seems loathe to carouse with the other guests. Maybe you should inquire as to the cause of her reticence.

**-][-**

Titan's Bane—a new title accrued by trail and task. Even before facing the primal itself there is celebration of deed and duty. Wheiskaet's gathering, born from his tasks that were called ignominious, were to be had before venturing forth into another battle.

Though Haldruht would have preferred to learn what needed to be done to find and face the Lord of Crags, he honored the request to join in food and libations. As drinks and chatter passed in various whirlwinds, each member of the Company of Heroes had imparted some form of wisdom or compliment either through slurred words or during distracted glances at brown-skinned beauties. Haldruht faced them with respect, finding comfort not necessarily in celebration but the familiarity of battle-hardened folk carousing in high spirits—It reminds him of home.

After a mindful chat and glowing compliment from Wheiskaet, there is a moment where he notices Y'shtola sitting upon the bench he had last spoke to her—notably away from the party. Her hands are cradled in her lap, an ankle cross over the other, and her eyes cast out over the ocean's waves. There is a slow sea breeze that wafts gently though strands of her white hair, the only motion in her still form.

It would be dishonest to say that it is the first time his attentions shift to the conjurer. In various moments he found himself sharing sidelong glances to the spot on the bench, curious if she would remain there. Each time, she was there, the same relaxed pose, looking out into the sea, unmoving and unchanged.

When he approaches her, she does not look away from the sea, "You are kind to indulge them—" Said mildly, but the vexation of her tone does not go unnoticed.

"Aye." He says to the tune of—_go on. _

Y'shtola looks to him, "But we have yet to even begin to have battle with Titan."

The point is valid, the center point of their goal is to face the Lord of Crags by the guidance of the Company of Heroes. Y'shtola placed her focus there from beginning to end—he had not expected anything different.

His gaze cast out over the party once more, taking in what cheer and mood had danced in the air around them before asking, "may I?" about the half of the bench that remained unoccupied.

When Y'shtola gives a short nod, he sits at her side a little distance away from her.

"You believe this to be a waste?" He asks, genuinely.

"I do." Y'shtola says, "I _should_ have foreseen this… _test_ before it even began. They mean well by their intentions; however, their methods leave very little in the way of practicality. Time is not something we wish to waste."

Haldruht did not disagree. There were several ways to test a person, and it was perhaps the lengthiest method he has ever been requested to do. Between running between lands, fighting through wilds, and more—it made the duties of his home seem like simple tasks. Even so, it did not bother him. With what patience he held, performing the tasks had been easy knowing that they were, though frivolous, in the aid of someone in need.

"Regardless," Her word interrupts his thoughts, what frustration towards time's waste dissolving into a smile, "Did you enjoy the celebration?"

He shares a wordless nod, leaning over to set elbows atop knees. The sunshine bright over them, warmed rays against deep mahogany skin and gentle breeze cooling it all the same.

"Do you feel yourself prepared to face Titan?" She asks.

_No_—instinct said it clearly, just as the confrontation with Ifrit was one he was not prepared for. For what power one primal may have, to assume similarity in tactic is against his nature, his training. The way Titan is described, a being able to wield the power of the earth and quake the lands of foes that provoke, it seemed there is no way to prepare for such a battle or enemy. There had not been any clear guidance as to how to defeat the primals, just simply that they _must_ be defeated.

"To face another primal is no simple task, but it is a task I take on without doubt." He tells her, sobering.

"You've answer, but not to the question." Y'shtola states, her head coming to a tilt. "Do you feel fear—"

"_Fear_?" It is a curt and decisive interruption, "If I am able to defeat Ifrit with nothing more than will and axe, Titan shall be no different."

Y'shtola is silent at first, a result of the ill-mannered interruption. She was, however, unchanged, the same tilt in her neck remained, the well-tempered look about her expression. "Again, you've answer."

"But _not_ to the question." Haldruht finishes, holding a sigh in his chest. They were answers to him, saying without saying, admitting without admission.

She leans back onto her palms, chin tilted towards the sky. "You know my inquiries do not aim to cause frustration."

They do not—it is clear in his mind that Y'shtola's questions come from a place of concern or consideration at least. However, it grows odd to admit to the feeling of fear after doing so much for so many. It evolves as an expectation—fear was becoming a luxury to hold.

"Aye, but I believe you to know the answers." He hazards, sounding indignant in the way that a child would at the behest of a mother's chiding.

"What reason would I have to pose such questions if I possessed their answers?" Y'shtola's voice picks up an amused lilt.

He clears his throat, "curiosity," she scoffs, "perspicacity." she laughs. It's lighthearted when she does, soft yet full in the way that billowing white clouds look in clear blue skies. It is contagious, not in the manner that begs a commonality in humor, but in the infectious way that it makes the corners of his mouth curl simply by the sweet sound of it—he longed to hear it more the second it ended.

"You mean to call me shrewd?"

"_Astute_." He clarifies. "I would bet my good eye that you have a knack to see more than with your eyes, Y'shtola."

"Mayhap I am not the only one." Y'shtola still smiles, closes her eyes to the sun for only a moment. "I may possess insight to what answers you may give, but I would never wish to rob you of the opportunity to surprise me."

"Have I?" Haldruht questions, "surprised you?"

Y'shtola makes the soft sound of a low hum, looking to him. "Your ability or lack thereof to do so is not of importance."

"You've answer—" He retorts.

"_Please_," Y'shtola chides him, but there is little in the way of reprimand in her tone. "If you've spent your time well in the festivities—" she moves to stand, his gaze does not leave her, "seek the answers from Wheiskaet, the time has come for him to make good on his promise."

**-][-**

The humid air of Camp Bronze Lake muddied his lungs. Though Haldruht was growing used to the humidity that Limsa's bordering lands and coasts would often possess, there were still many places that challenge him. Breathing such heavy air was a chore of its own, disliking the location altogether. Y'shtola had asked him here though. After the Lord of Crags came to fall, they were meant to regroup in the raised encampment.

Like Ifrit, there was no true strategy against Titan, what he learned from the primal in battle was to be used immediately in the hopes of obtaining victory. But it wasn't a simple task—it never was. Where he had thought that Y'shtola may face the god-like being at his side, she stayed behind, keeping to the aetheryte in Zelma's run to ensure a safe return if there was to be one.

When he approached the aetheryte from the stairs, Y'shtola was already waiting, leaning against a pillar at the edge of ankle-deep pool. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her gaze distant from the present location she is in. Haldruht wipes away beads of sweat from his brow before approaching, and it is not until he is a couple steps away that she notices his approach.

"Haldruht," Her greeting is pleasant, quiet, "I expected you sooner."

"Mamool ja," Haldruht shrugs, "they are _persistent_."

"That they are." She concedes, "The scions require that the Maelstrom be notified of the victory over Titan. Though I'm sure news has spread, an official notice is a part of protocol, I recommend you return to Limsa Lominsa and share what occurred."

"Then it shall be done—" He unintentionally intonates as if to respond to a superior officer, "though it sounds as if I will be taking this journey alone."

Y'shtola gives a single nod, "You shall. I will be returning to the waking sands to inform Minfilia of our venture. The honor to spread good news to the Maelstrom is yours."

When he nods in affirmation, she takes a single step away from the pillar, a step closer to him. A little smile from Y'shtola and Haldruht can feel the warmth creeping at his neck.

"I must commend you on a job well done." Y'shtola waves a hand. "Twice now you have faced a primal and emerged the victor, and by little intervention or assistance. That is no small feat."

He wants to give thanks to her but there seems to be no intent to accept it.

Y'shtola begins her departure towards the aetheryte in careful splashing steps across the low shimmering pool. Her hand reaches out to the large crystal and, for a moment, shares a short glance over her shoulder towards him. Haldruht is unsure if she notices him watching as she disappears in the quick dimmed light of the crystal. Standing among the still air alone, he realizes that it does not bother him if she had.


	3. Guardian of Eorzea

**Summary:** Elated to see you returned to Revenant's Toll, Yozan and his fellow "Doman adventurers" beg you to give them a special training session. Hoary Boulder, the Roegadyn who has taken charge of the children's daily instruction, instead proposes a sparring match between you and himself. You spare a moment to indulge the attention of the Doman children.

**-][-**

The silence of The Rising Stones at night is stark in difference to its noise and energy in the day. The new location sparked new attitudes, new conversations, and new allies. Even among the new space, the same challenges still seemed to arise, primals being summoned by their beast tribe worshippers, the Garlean Empire leaving blips and hints of activity, and the challenges of a people, more specifically the domans, coming to light. It continues to keep the Scions of the Seventh Dawn occupied day or night. Even the Seventh Heaven seemed to become livelier and more busied with the members of their troop passing by or stopping for meal, drink, and conversation.

Earlier in the day, however, Haldruht spent most of his time entertaining the attentions of the doman children and speaking with Alphinaud about his revelations in clear motivations while picking up another offhand title—Guardian of Eorzea.

Under Mor Dhona's night sky and shimmering stars, Haldruht found the silence comforting. He chose to sit on a bench among the quiet of the few who still chose to traverse in the night. The spot is well tucked away from paths of common travel within Revenant's Toll's walls; to find solace outside the walls of their new headquarters, even at night, was a difficult task knowing that there were many bound to stop and wish for conversation, guidance, or attentions. His halberd leans against the stone of the wall behind the bench, armored elbows set on knees, hands clasped together, and aimless gaze at the ground.

"Your ability to hide is improving." It is Y'shtola, he knows without even looking up, by voice and curled tip of grey pattens in peripherals.

"A skill only grows when practiced." He retorts, "Though, to say I am hiding means I have something to hide from."

"Or _someone_." She says, provoking his gaze to her. Y'shtola stands with a small glass in her hand outstretched to offer. It is strange, he admits but Haldruht took the steaming glass nevertheless, posture straightened with no less than a nod in thanks. "Chamomile. Nights are chilled, it will help keep warm while you hide." Y'shtola's words provoked by his curious inspection of the libations shared.

"I am _not_ hiding." The glass cradled in palms to collect the warmth of the glass before taking a careful sip.

The warm cup of tea is well needed. The chilled weather of Mor Dhona chills him down to the marrow of bones, unable to be shaken or ignored. The chittering of teeth is an urge resisted through nothing more than an act of self-conceit—he wouldn't _dare_ be bested by the weather.

"There is no shame in seeking privacy." She says, her hand upturning among small shrug, choosing to sit alongside him on the bench. "You are entitled to moments alone just as anyone else."

Haldruht's eyes lower to the glass under low lids, "Aye, is that what you seek when I cannot find you?" casually posed question disturbing steady steam before a longer sip of tea.

"Had I known you were looking I may have made myself more available to you." It is an answer that catches him off guard, causing him to cough at the wrong intake of air that was more tea than air.

"I'm sorry I-" another cough that he meant to suppress, "I did not mean it in that way, _I meant_—"

"I know," Y'shtola assures him, her mild simper showing no offense taken. "No need to explain."

After some short time clearing his throat, he attempts to amend, "I have admittedly been curious to your works outside of the Rising Stones." It can be assumed that Y'shtola still tends to Limsa Lominsa's strife with kobolds and sahagins but found himself curious to any other ventures Minfillia may bestow or ones she may take on of her own accord.

"Though the challenges are ever-changing, the primals remain my focus. It is rare that my actions diverge from the interests of the scions."

"But not impossible." It's more of a question than a point to be made. He would never doubt Y'shtola's focus at any moment.

It makes her raise a brow but give no response. It gives him time to finish the tea, cradling the empty glass in his hands.

"I noticed your sparring earlier today." Y'shtola says, another surprise.

"Your thoughts?" It is a request that is born from the knowledge that she was one of the very few that knew him at the start of his journey.

"You wish me to critique that of a skilled warrior when my knowledge only pertains to the arts of magicks?" Y'shtola asks, more in the manner of stating.

"I believe, that out of the many I could ask, you would be most honest."

"Your opponent was not the necessary skill to pose as a true challenge." Y'shtola says, without missing a beat, "to receive a viable critique, I would recommend a more challenging foe, perhaps even of higher skill than your own."

"_Ah_." It does not dissuade his mood but only brings it to a point of slight chagrin.

"Nevertheless, I believe I saw much of yourself in your opponent." She points out, "You are of the same lands."

"We are from the same village," Haldruht admits, nonchalance found in tone and weak shrug of shoulder, "but we were never familiar with one another."

Y'shtola hums, not in the way of curiosity or discovery, but in affirmation—an expected confirmation of acquired knowledge. Hoary Boulder, a somewhat familiar face among Eorzea, was not lacking in skill. Hailing from the spine like himself and from the same village, he rose his skill through deed and trail. And, like himself, much of Hoary Boulder's martial tact and strategy used against him had been like his own, another reminder of home.

"Though I am curious," Haldruht continues, "where were you? Thancred and Yda were among others at its end, but you were nowhere to be found."

"A witness in passing." Her gaze wanders. "The site of your skirmish was in my path to Revenant's Toll."

Haldruht shares his realization as a near inaudible, _hm_, before the silence between them grows comfortably among the quiet sounds of the night.

He fell back to against the bench, setting the glass on the arm rest adjacent. In the moment, he noticed how close they sat next to one another. It isn't without noting that by his size, more than less of the seating arrangement was claimed by him. Even the remaining space was enough to put healthy distance between them, but it was not the case.

Y'shtola's hands were folded in the same and familiar neat pattern that they usual did, fingers cascading among one another, loosely laced. Her legs coming to cross at some point in their conversation.

Haldruht could only imagine what might run through her mind, what stray thoughts she held that she never chose to voice. Though his stoicism was one of note, Y'shtola's silences were often curious ones. Perhaps she thought of the days to come, or the quiet of the night. He wondered if she sought out personal endeavors and what those endeavors would even begin to look like.

"What has kept you awake?" Haldruht asks, clearing his throat, "even at the hour you've joined me, it is late into the night."

"Indeed, it is." It is dismissive, a distaste for the obvious on her tongue, "I could very well ask you the same. Though, had I not noticed you here I may have taken to sleep by now."

A singular brow peaks, "if you grow tired or the cold comes to bother you, do not let my being here hold you Y'shtola."

She chuckles, low and sweet in the night air, "your consideration is appreciated; however, I've quite taken to the quiet here and I am not stranger to the chill." She gently waves a hand in the air as if to wave the offer away. "However, if you wish to be left alone, I would seldom deny you such privacy."

"What privacy I would gain by your leave would not match the pleasure of your company. Your presence is always welcome." He says mildly. "Besides, the night is very… _charming_."

It makes her scoff, "is the night so charming to steal you away from sleep? Is it so simple?" The words have the subdued sting of tart to them.

"Aye," Haldruht's nod is curt, confident, "all else is complicated."

She is silent just long enough for it to take hold. "Mayhap I have become more accustomed to the idea of your company. I must admit, it was not my original purpose."

Y'shtola does not hesitate, she has never. It is no dramatic pause; he can tell, while waiting for clarification, by the small twitch in her ear—she is listening for others. She repositions herself to lean forward, weight braced on palms against the bench's edge.

Her look is slant when her head turns, "You are no ordinary man."

He snorts, the smile he shares is crooked, "you mean to call me strange, I say, make it in more obvious words."

Y'shtola rebukes him through the brevity of her smile that is no quicker than the twinkle of stars. "I cannot begin to believe that this path is easy for you." Her voice turns to clarity, the austerity clear in tone and strain in shoulders. "To carry the burdens of Eorzea upon thine shoulders often creates suffering within. I believe your resolve; however, I cannot help but doubt that your evenings without sleep can only be the work of the charm of night."

It makes him pause, expression coming to fall, she only sits back.

"That is to say—you are no ordinary man, but a man still." Y'shtola finishes. "Thus, I believe it fair to ask you once more—" It is the first time since she sat that she took to really looking at him, to his knowledge, "what keeps you from sleep?"

He does not show fear eagerly or easily—but it creeps into him the moment she asks. Be it the comfort he found within her company, or the newly found safety that Revenant's Toll delivered, Haldruht makes a different choice.

"They speak only of demons in Alabathia." He says after some time, looking to the ground between them. "They claw their way from the hells out the cracks of the heated and broken earth, come to tear and steal life and light from all they draw into their vicious jaws to join them in the dark and endless void."

Haldruht sighs then, a breath that heft weight and Y'shtola only waits.

"They were stories then, only stories." He continues, "meant to encourage the young to train and fight. I never laid eyes on a demon my time there, but primals—they are demons." It makes his spine shudder in chills at their memory. The echoes of their presence still ring loudly in his mind; they are ghosts that returned in the night and haunted him in the depths of pitched shadows.

When Y'shtola places her hand, she places just at his wrist where gloves would have once covered, "You are not alone." It is spoken as if it could perhaps be all that is needed to scatter the lingering shadows.

Coming from Y'shtola, a part of him believes that it may. It is not confidence in her words that inspire him, or the clarity that it holds. It is the sense that she is familiar, and it comforts him more than the thought of comradery.

"You need not say more." She says, her words low as if to be whisked away by a gentle breeze.

It takes another long-measured breath before he can look at her once more.

The light of the ether faintly reflects against light teal eyes, as if the stars waited to burn only in the endless pools of her iris, that they no longer belonged to the limitless skies but to her. There are no eyes that look at him that way, that hold such clarity and comfort, holding such a court among the cosmos. The stars do not move here without her gaze, the moons do not shift here without her word— they dared not move unless she commanded it. He felt no greater than the stars that glimmered in her eye, set to burn for eons if only to one day be reflected in her eyes. .

It is unfamiliar and frightening in its way of charming him as quickly as the night, but it is a fear he welcomes into his heart as if it could overshadow what fear may have already taken hold.

They remained there for what feels like another hour before the suns peak began to change the hue of the sky above them. Though their eye had drifted to that of the sky above and silence prevailed more than any lingering conversation, Y'shtola had left her hand in its place among him, in his charge.

Haldruht believed that he could have remained there for eternity, with her.


End file.
